


Chapstick

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M, Numbers is a fuckin tease, UST, dumb trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold weather, chapstick, sexual tension... pretty self-explanatory, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapstick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintywrites/gifts).



> Just a trashy lil UST fic inspired by one of mintywrites' headcanons... I hope you like it and that it will appease the Headcanon Gods! Also, sorry it took so long :-S

It can get pretty damn cold on the East Coast during winter, but the Midwest is a different game altogether; here you'll get everything from heat waves to floods to freezing rain and blizzards. It's especially nasty in winter, though. This kind of cold is something that Numbers has never been able to cope with, despite having lived here for well over a decade.

Sure, it's easier to live with than extreme heat - he was in Arizona for a little while and that was excruciating - because all you have to do in this kind of climate is stay in a place with some form of heating and, if you _have_ to go outside, just make sure to put on enough layers. And Numbers owns plenty of long johns. But when the cold is at its worst, he feels like the skin his on his face is about to crack open. The amount of money he spends on moisturizer and lip balm is ridiculous.

He's is on his way back from a job with Wrench when he feels his lips starting to tingle.

 _Pull over,_ Numbers signs to his partner. _I need some supplies._

By 'supplies' he always means smokes, Scrunyuns and a chapstick. When he returns to the car, the first thing he does is to relieve his poor, dry lips. From the corner of his eye, he notices Wrench staring at him.

 _What?_ He asks. _A guy can't use chapstick?_

His partner quickly averts his eyes and starts the engine.

\---

A few days later Numbers catches Wrench staring for a second time, while they're in a diner on their way to Grand Forks.

"What, you want some?" he says through gritted teeth, holding up his chapstick. It's not really an offer; talking in stead of signing is his way of letting Wrench know that he's pissing him off.

Wrench looks sheepish - _ashamed,_ even - and Numbers suddenly realizes where the problem lies. _I fucking knew it_ _,_ he thinks as his partner pointedly looks away. _  
_

Wrench is secretive about every single aspect of his life, including who he fucks, and so Numbers has always wondered about him. Wrench is not the overtly gay type, far from it, but he might just be one of those guys who overcompensate for their lack of heterosexuality with hypermasculine appearance and behavior. There have certainly been a few hints dropped along the way, his obvious disinterest in scantily clad women being a major indicator.

Numbers isn't a stranger to a bit of guy-on-guy himself, make no mistake. He used to bottle up those urges, but after spending some time in prison he learned not to give a good goddamn. That being said, he never allowed himself to entertain the idea that _Wrench_ , of all people, might have a thing for him. When he'd first shaken hands with his new partner, Numbers had approached it with the utmost professionality, trying his best to ignore all thoughts of _Wow, this guy is hot and probably hung like a horse._ Yet here it is, plain as day, and Numbers isn't quite sure how to handle it.

Now, he could be mature about this and just try having a normal, adult conversation with Wrench - but that has never been Numbers' style. There's an evil little bastard in him that sees a golden opportunity to really fuck with his partner.

\---

It's not hard, being an asshole. Numbers has had years of practise.

He now makes better use of his chapstick than ever before, trying to provoke a reaction from Wrench with his phallic lip balm. And it doesn't end there; he has taken to showing more skin, popping a button here and there, walking around the motel room in his boxers. Sometimes he'll even drop things on purpose just to give his partner a good look at his buns as he bends over.

Numbers is not entirely sure what he wants the outcome to be. Whatever happens, he figures he'll just roll with it. For now it's just a bit of fun.

And it _is_ of fun, watching Wrench squirm. Not that he actually watches, mind you - he'll purposely avoid eye contact so as to not seem too obvious, but in his peripheral vision he can see Wrench staring and hear him breathing heavily through his nose. Numbers has to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing.

He's playing with fire, though, and sooner or later he is bound to get burnt.

\---

They're on a particularly boring stakeout when Numbers dedices to break the monotony by delivering an award-winning performance, sensuously running the chapstick over his mouth, smacking his lips. This is when Wrench finally reaches his breaking point.

_You're doing that on purpose._

_Doing what?_ Numbers asks as he puts the cap back on his chapstick and drops it in his pocket, shoulders and eyebrows raised in faux innocence.

 _Don't give me that shit,_ Wrench signs, slamming his fists on the steering wheel. _You know what you're doing._

 _I don't, honest!_ Numbers lies, arms raised in surrender, and Wrench fixes him with a scowl that would send Satan himself running.

 _Bullshit,_ he signs. _You know you have a sweet mouth. You're just doing this to mess with me._

Numbers isn't quite sure what to say to that: Nobody has ever bothered to inform him about the erotic qualities of his mouth and so he's a little taken aback, but also undeniably excited. As his cock swells in his pants at the thought of the things Wrench might want to do with his mouth, Numbers just sits there, immobile, blinking at his partner like an owl.

Wrench eventually relents, dragging his palms over his tired face.

 _I'm sorry,_ he signs.  _I guess I must be imagining it. Forget I said anything. I just- it's been a long day, you know?_

 _No, you're right,_ Numbers admits, finally succumbing to sympathy. _I was teasing. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that._

Now Wrench looks like he wants to drive his fist clean through his partner's 'sweet mouth'.

 _I knew it!_ He signs furiously. _Why would you do that? That is so shitty!_

 _I don't know,_ Numbers answers with a helpless shrug. _I just thought it would be funny._

 _Funny?_ Wrench echoes, his jaw dropping. _You think it's funny that I'm attracted to you? How old are you?_

Now it's Numbers' turn to look sheepish. With hindsight, it's rather shameful; he's the older one of the two and he should really have acted as such. There's nothing more humbling than being schooled in social etiquette by someone ten years your junior.  _The only way to fix this,_ he thinks, _is to spill the beans._

 _Would it help,_ Numbers starts, hesitating for a moment, _if I told you the attraction is mutual?_

Wrench narrows his eyes at him, looking apprehensive.

_Are you fucking with me again?_

_No,_ Numbers swears. _Hand to God._

This makes his partner narrow his eyes even further, until they're nothing but dark slits.

_You don't believe in God._

_Hand to Satan, then,_ Numbers signs, throwing his arms up in exasperation. _Hand to a bag of S-C-R-U-N-Y-U-N-S. Hand to my chapstick!_

For the longest time, Wrench just stares him down. Numbers can't tell if he's trying to psyche him out or figure him out, and it's really starting to unnerve him - but then Wrench looks away and nods, pursing his lips in thought.

 _Well if that's the case,_ he finally signs,  _I guess I should park this car behind some bushes so you can suck my dick with that sweet, soft mouth of yours._

 _What about the target?_ Numbers asks with clumsy, flustered hands.

 _Yeah, I guess we should wait._   _But I'm not sure that monster pitching a tent in your pants can._

Numbers can't argue with that logic.

**Author's Note:**

> why do I always end my fics right when they're about to get jiggy??? idk maybe one day I'll write PWP... if I can stop blushing, that is.


End file.
